


Derek Hale: Allergic to Shirts?

by memitims



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Stiles, Cheesy Workout Music, Injury, M/M, Magic Fairy Weapons, Stiles rambles, Stilinski Family Feels, Underage Drinking, Witches, abs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 20:17:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memitims/pseuds/memitims
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or: Five Times Stiles Saw Derek Shirtless, and One Time Derek Saw Stiles Shirtless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Derek Hale: Allergic to Shirts?

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so, this is my first Sterek fanfiction and I'm kind of nervous, but I love feedback! Thank you very much for reading and I hope you enjoy it.

I.

Stiles rang the doorbell to Derek’s new and improved living space. The loft was definitely much better than the burned out shell of the Hale house or the abandoned train car with the creepy old seats. It was perfect for planning and scheming and even had a parking lot in the back where Stiles’ jeep would be effectively hidden from his father or any of the curious deputies that the Sheriff had not-so-sneakily asked to keep an eye out for his son. Peter Hale, of all people (werewolves?), answered the door with his trademark smirk, sending shivers down Stiles’ spine. Apparently death does very little to ease one’s sinister tendencies. 

“Hello Stiles,” purred Peter, and wow yes, Peter Hale just legitimately purred at him. “Peter,” Stiles replied coolly, his foot tapping rapidly on the doorframe. “I assume you’re looking for Derek?” Stiles nodded curtly and Peter hooked his thumb behind him. “Back there. Although, I don’t think he was expecting company. I’ll doubt you’ll mind though.” Peter raised his eyebrows and winked at Stiles, sending another involuntary shiver down his spine. Stiles blinked in confusion, but seriously, who knew what Peter was talking about half the time?

He moved past Peter into the loft, ignoring the man’s unsettling chuckle, and towards the direction of the living room. Stiles wasn’t quite sure if it could actually be categorized as a living room, considering it only consisted of a drab grey couch and an equally drab beige rug, but proper house vocabulary failed to cover Derek’s strange aversion to actual furnishings. 

As he moved closer, Stiles heard the steady thump of a bass beat getting louder and louder. Which was actually not that loud, probably due to the fact that the loft was inhabited by werewolves with super-hearing, and thus had very little use for the high-volume button. There was some kind of weird remix song coming from an old seat of beat-up speakers on the floor next to a green yoga mat. The same yoga mat that was currently occupied by one Derek Hale, doing furiously fast push-ups like his life depended on it. Which it probably did.

The combination of the ridiculous song (seriously, did people actually listen to this kind of music?) and the fact that Derek was freaking grunting in the middle of the floor as he pushed himself up and down, caused Stiles to let out a tiny and totally-not-emasculating-in-any-way giggle at the sight. 

This caused Derek’s ears to perk up and he lifted his head with a glare. Stiles slapped his hand over his mouth to hide his grin, which did little to melt Derek’s icy gaze. The werewolf reached over and jammed his hand on the power button of the speakers, effectively rippling a number of muscles down Derek’s arm.  
Stiles met Derek’s glare and fake-pouted. “Dude, that’s my jam!” Derek just rolled his eyes in response, but hell no, Stiles is the king of eye-rolling, so he just rolled his right back. “Just kidding, jeez! Where did you even find that song?”

Derek ignored him, of course, and pushed off the mat into a standing position. Which is when Stiles noticed that Derek was definitely not wearing a shirt and wow, abs. Stiles was no stranger to abs, especially with Danny in the locker room, and even Scott busted his out once in a while, but Derek’s were considerably more…ab-ier. He couldn’t really think of the right word because he was distracted and his throat was kind of dry and really, it had nothing to do with the fact that Derek Hale was standing in front of him, wearing nothing but a pair of tight black jeans. Or the beads of sweat that were currently running down his chest, that Stiles was not staring at. Nope, definitely not staring.

“Stiles,” growled Derek, his eyebrows furrowed in a mix of confusion and annoyance. “What are you doing here?” Stiles swallowed, hard, and dragged his eyes up to Derek’s face. “I um, did some research on those faeries like you asked. They have some pretty cool spells!” Derek looked unimpressed, and Stiles sighed as he rummaged through his pockets. He pulled out a small USB drive and motioned for Derek to stretch out his arm. Stiles pressed the small device into Derek’s warm hand. “Everything I found is on there. I know, I know, the USB drive might be a bit high-tech or whatever for you, but just have Peter put it into his super fancy Mac. It’s much better than printing out a bunch of pages and killing a few trees. Cuz, then what would you have to lurk behind?”

Stiles caught the small hint of a smile, but it was quickly replaced by a firm line of a scowl when he smiled back. 

II.

Stiles did not think the fairies had cool spells anymore. His general feelings towards fairy spells were know leaning towards the “do not want” end of the spectrum after one of the obnoxious creatures had put one on him. And now Stiles couldn’t talk, which really really really sucked. His words were his best weapons, but they also gave him comfort and were the source of his own amusement 50% of the time. It had only been ten minutes and Stiles really missed sarcasm. 

He also couldn’t tell Scott to put him the hell down because it was just a little scratch and a stupid spell and he did not need to be carried to Deaton’s, he could use his own legs, thank you very much. Unfortunately, this was very difficult to communicate without words, so Stiles had to put up with his best friend hauling him to the veterinarian’s office.  
When they finally arrived at Deaton’s, with absolutely none of Stiles’ dignity intact, Scott explained the situation to his boss. They gave Stiles a notebook and some markers so he could tell his side of the story, but had a lot more fun drawing doodles while Deaton rummaged through his extensive cabinet. 

The bell on the door jingled quietly and all three of them turned to see who the newcomer was. Derek suddenly appeared in the doorway, very much shirtless, and tugging a sheepish looking Isaac behind him. Stiles rolled his eyes and grabbed a fresh piece of paper to scribble on. He got Scott’s attention and held up his creation, eliciting a roar of laughter. Derek lunged into the room and snatched the piece of paper from Stiles’ hand. He scowled down at the crumpled note and read the words aloud. 

“Derek Hale: Allergic to Shirts?” This only caused Scott to laugh harder, and even Isaac timidly joined in, before Derek turned and magically shut him up with a glare.

III.

They finally convinced the vicious fairies to leave Beacon Hills alone and go find their own territory, but not before they attacked Derek with their tiny magical weapons that were surprisingly effective. Currently, Derek was inside the dark interior of the Hale house, lying on the floor, while the rest of the pack crowded around him. His shirt had been ripped to shreds, so Boyd and Erica helped pull the scraps of material off of Derek’s body. His bare chest glistened with blood and Stiles shuddered at the sight of the deep scratches that crisscrossed over Derek’s strangely pale skin. 

“Why isn’t he healing?” cried Scott, and Stiles could sense the familiar rise of panic in his voice. Scott’s panic was doing nothing to calm Stiles’ frayed nerves, but he knew that he needed to stay calm, something the werewolves surrounding him usually had a hard time doing. The panicked wolves shook their heads in unison, confused and scared expressions on their faces that matched Stiles’ own feelings. His heart hurt at the sight of Derek lying unconscious on the floor, but he really wasn’t going to analyze that right now. 

Scott turned to him. “Stiles? Do something!” 

“M-m-me? Why?” stammered Stiles, just as Derek started whimpering and gently squirming and oh my god Stiles’ chest was aching because Derek was dying right in front of them. “Because you did all that research, stupid!” snarled Scott. Oh right. That. Stiles racked is brain for something, anything from his research that had talked about magical fairy weapons and the wounds caused by them. “Hurry!”

Stiles tried to block out Derek’s whines and the pack’s desperate cries of anguish to focus on the documents he had read. He pictured them in his mind’s eye and he gasped as he remembered the pages of an old spell book.

“Call Lydia! We need someone to make a potion.”

IV. 

Stiles was drunk. In the middle of the woods. Alone. In hindsight, this was probably a bad plan. But honestly, what was the worst that could happen? Some werewolves come and eat him? (Ha!) His legs were kind of wobbly so he sat on a large slab of rock and sunk his head into his hands. 

It was his mother’s birthday. He had tried not to think about it all day, just like he did every other year. Scott had even succeeded in distracting him with news of Derek, that he was doing much better, all thanks to the magical cure Stiles had discovered and Lydia had helped concoct. It had taken a few days to work fully, but apparently Derek was back to his full werewolf ways. 

But even this reassurance, which had finally calmed down the nerves that had been running haywire ever since that afternoon in the Hale house, couldn't outweigh the sight of his father, crying at the kitchen table. His dad’s eyes were undeniably red and Stiles couldn't take it, couldn't go sit at his computer in his room and pretend that nothing was wrong, because everything was wrong and there was still a giant hole in his life, even all these years later. 

He knew drinking wasn't going to solve his problems and it wasn't going to make his mom come back, and it wasn't going to erase that painful hallucination of his father from Lydia’s ill-fated party that never failed to torture him in his sleep. But he was a teenager, goddamnit, and his life could be so messed up sometimes.

As if on cue, Derek freakin’ Hale appeared in the trees in front of him. Because if his life was screwed up enough already, Derek was making Stiles feel things that he was so not ready to confront. Because it was stupid to fall for an older guy who was incredibly broody and happened to be a werewolf, but also made Stiles grin stupidly into his pillow at night.  
“Heyyy Derek,” slurred Stiles, and oops he sounded funny. Derek didn't respond, he just crossed his arms over his stupid muscle-y chest and the tight long-sleeve grey Henley that was stretched across it. He moved closer and glared disapprovingly down at Stiles. 

“Haven’t you learned how dangerous these woods are by now?” Derek was still glaring, but his meanie eyebrows were a lot closer to Stiles’ face. He placed a strong hand on Stiles’ forearm and pulled him to his feet, one arm going around Stiles’ shoulders as his legs wobbled. “Let’s get you out of here. Your dad is probably worried sick.”

Of course Derek would care about his dad, because he was Derek and actually cared about people even though he pretended he didn't. And now Stiles felt sick himself because he hadn't even thought of what his dad would be going through, and he was obviously having a tough time already if he had been crying at the table, and why did Derek have to be so sneakily compassionate? 

He wanted to talk aloud instead of letting all these thoughts pile up in his head, but Stiles had just enough self-preservation left to realize that talking could probably lead to bad things, like telling Derek exactly what he thought of those colourful eyes of his. Instead, Stiles opted for burying his head in Derek’s shoulder and neck area, which felt warm and safe. He shivered slightly against Derek’s chest and he pulled Stiles back to examine his thin t-shirt. “Are you cold?”

“Mmm,” Stiles nodded and oh Jesus, was Derek pulling off his shirt? Yes, of course he was, and suddenly the dark Henley was over Stiles’ head and he poked his arms down the sleeves and it was so so warm. Stiles sighed contentedly and leaned back into Derek’s now-bare chest as they headed out of the woods. 

V.

Stiles should have known that the fairies wouldn't be the last of their problems. He lived in a town populated by werewolves, for crying out loud. Thus, it was only marginally surprising that Stiles found himself standing in the shadows of a creepy witch headquarters building, watching a pretty, young witch tie up Derek to an iron pole. He was only wearing a pair of faded jeans and he was all wolfed out, with the intense red eyes and the sharp canines, but it was as if some invisible shield prevented him from reaching out and attacking the witch. 

In fact, there was a sort of invisible shield around the witch, and Stiles knew all about it because he had done his research, per usual, and this time he was prepared. Derek had stupidly thought it would be perfectly okay to go searching for the witches himself, but Stiles was having none of it. He and Lydia had prepared some concoctions beforehand so that Stiles would be prepared when he, inevitably, would have to rescue Derek. 

The witch finally succeeded in getting Derek to stay put on the dusty floor. Stiles wondered if there were any other witches around, and figured that there probably were, so it was best to stay put for the time being. She moved closer to Derek and hooked a long and crooked finger underneath his chin. Stiles could barely make out her words, but he was just close enough. 

“You’d be so handsome without those silly fangs and red eyes. What a shame.” Her voice was soft, but had a sharp edge that made Stiles shiver with fear. Derek growled at her, but the witch paid no attention. She moved her fingers down Derek’s neck and onto his chest, caressing him a way that made Stiles’ blood boil. Hell no! He figured now would be as good a time as any, especially when she was distracted by Derek’s…attributes, and there was no way Stiles was watching any more of this.

He rushed out of the shadows and surprise attacked the witch, hurling one of the potions towards her with impeccable aim. She let out a surprised screech and flung backwards as the liquid ran down her legs and seeped into the floor. The witch tried to move, but she was glued down. Stiles chuckled at the sight. 

“Stiles!” hissed Derek from behind him. “What the hell are you doing?” Stiles spun around and began to work on the bindings. “Saving you, idiot!” 

VI.

The screen door to Lydia’s kitchen squeaked as Stiles pushed it open and stepped out of the cool summer night air. He hummed softly to himself and headed for the refrigerator, where Lydia had promised he would find some delicious tangerines. After the past eventful weeks, Lydia had suggested that the pack come and hang out at her pool to relax and cool off. Everyone had shown up, including Derek, and Stiles was more than happy to discover that he looked amazing in dark blue swim trunks.  
Stiles rummaged through the huge refrigerator until he found the bag of tangerines he was looking for. He peeled one gracefully and was halfway through stuffing it in his mouth when he heard a voice behind him. Stiles jumped and turned around to glare at whoever startled him. It was Derek. Typical. 

“Thanks for saving me the other night.” Derek’s voice was soft and earnest. Stiles blushed. “Yeah well, you saved me last week in the forest. So we’re even. Tangerine?” Derek accepted the fruit with a nod, and inhaled it within ten seconds. Stiles laughed and Derek raised an eyebrow in response. “What?” Stiles just rolled his eyes. 

“Give me another one,” uttered Derek, but Stiles crossed his arms across his bare chest and shook his head. “Nuh-uh. You’re going to eat all of Lydia’s tangerines!” 

“Give me another one, please?” whined Derek, reaching towards Stiles for the orange mesh bag. He shook his head no again, a cheeky smile spread across his face. Derek lunged for the bag, and suddenly he was pressed flush against Stiles’ chest. Stiles couldn’t breathe. 

Derek switched his focus from the bag of tangerines and slid his eyes down to meet Stiles’. They didn’t stay there for long, however, because they moved even further down to Stiles’ lips and Stiles was maybe staring at Derek’s lips too. Derek lunged again, but this time the movement was a lot gentler. He pressed his chest closer to Stiles’ and caged him against the kitchen counter. Stiles closed the distance between their lips and he was finally, thank god, kissing Derek Hale and it felt perfect and right and really really hot. Derek tasted like tangerine and chlorine and coffee and Stiles had never loved bag of fruit more in his life.


End file.
